


White Noise

by moodyseal



Series: Memories of Dust and Gold [4]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, Gen, I will probably change the quote in the summary later, hopefully I’ll finish this, no beta we die like jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25920052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyseal/pseuds/moodyseal
Summary: Returning to godhood surely wasn’t as painless as Apollo thought it would be – after facing a difficult choice but soon refusing to live by it, he must deal with the consequences.Naturally, the Fates decided to complicate everything, once again.≪Mnemosyne shook her head. ”It was foolish of them to believe I had Lethe’s power, really – because, you see, I was made to save memories, not send them into oblivion.” She reminded me of a cat, with her sly smile and shining eyes. ”Any memory erased by my hand never really fades. It just gets lost.”≫
Series: Memories of Dust and Gold [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1302707
Comments: 21
Kudos: 67





	1. Life Goes On

There’s no fun in being the god of prophecy.

At first, you’re ecstatic, yes - you can predict in which direction the wind will blow tomorrow, which flower species will bloom in the soil, when a wave will crash against the shore. You can hear the sound of a child’s laugh before it’s even born, melodies that still have to be composed, words and languages that haven’t been invented yet. You’re the first witness of the power of a great civilization born from a bunch of sheds that call themselves a village; you can see new technologies, beautiful paintings that are still just sketches, and elaborate dishes that don’t exist yet.

Soon, however, you discover that there’s another side of the medal. Soon the voices start whispering more persistently in your ears and visions of blood and war and death start clouding your mind like a fog. Soon your eyes start spilling tears for innocent heroes who believe that they’ll get to grow old when, in truth, their parents will still be alive when their pyre will burn. Soon, after you’ve asked the Fates to change those children’s destinies and after their cold and unforgiving gaze has met yours, you realize that the future is not as kind as you thought.

It’s cruel. It’s unmerciful. It’s remorseless.

No living being can change it, once it’s sealed, not even a god. 

Zeus might believe that he did it, once; sitting on his throne of gold, convinced that he has the whole world at his feet, he might believe that he defied the Fates when it was foretold that Metis’ second child would usurp his power, but that’s no more than a lie and he’s no more than a puppet in their hands. Something happens only if they’ll allow it to happen - that’s how it goes.

Yet while I understood that quite soon, for millennia gods and mortals alike still kept on fighting, stubborn as they were - especially my father. He kept on struggling against a current that was destined to overpower him, sooner or later. He kept on trying to fool the Fates, unaware that their designs are often too elaborate to be unraveled.

Of course, scared of any change that the future might bring, this time he did the same.

—

“You look terrible.”

I was sitting on my bed with my knees up to my chin, my head leaning on the wall behind me. As the sun was slowly rising outside of the window, I stared at the whiteness of the wall, contemplating how the colour changed as more light illuminated the room. It wasn’t white, the other day; I repainted it, following Rachel’s example, hoping that it would help me clear my mind.

Alas, it didn’t.

“Thanks,” I told my sister, rolling my eyes.

Artemis looked almost the same as always, except her hair was awfully messy, which was probably due to the fact that she just came back from a hunt, and her eyebrows were frowning even more so than usual, to the point that I thought that if she tried just a little harder they could have fused together.

She stared at me for another moment; then, sighing, she turned to look at the mess I turned my room into. Pencils and paintbrushes were scattered across the floor, along with crumpled music sheets and book pages; spilled dried paint created a strange abstract painting on the desk, and shards of what had once been my mirror could be found in every corner of the room.

Glancing at the furniture, she probably noticed that it was the third time I had changed its disposition over the course of four months - or, at least, the third time she witnessed it.

With a snap of her fingers, every trace of paint or dust disappeared. Every object was put back into place, and the broken yellow ceramic bowl that lied broken on the floor magically fixed itself.

Satisfied with her work, she returned to what seemed to be her favourite hobby at that moment - judging me. She sat down beside me, telling me to “ _scoot over_ ”, and looked at me once again, with sadness dripping out of her eyes.

Not really wishing to look at her expression, I leaned on her shoulder, and she put an arm around me. While she did that, my hands reached out for a small photo I kept near my bed.

It was taken a couple of days before I left for the solstice meeting on Olympus, when my godhood still hadn’t been restored: all of my children were there, some looking at the camera with bright eyes and big smiles and others talking to one another, laughing and sticking their tongue at each other; beside them was Chiron, who was looking at the mess with an amused smile on his face; then Annabeth, who was kissing Percy on the cheek, Grover laughing beside them and Meg, who apparently was trying to make me fall by pulling me down by my shirt.

That photo was the only remaining memory of my journey, other than the beautiful bow that the kids at Camp Jupiter had given me; it was the only object that kept my mind from forgetting and slipping once again in the cold indifference that the other gods seemed to love so much.

As I was holding the frame, Artemis’ hand reached my hair, and she started playing with the curls while stroking it.

I suppose I accidentally changed my appearance in my sleep like I did many times before; so, considering that my skin tone was significantly paler and my hair way shorter than it was before I fell asleep, instead of looking like the blonde twenty-five-year-old I usually presented myself as, I probably looked more similar to what had been my mortal form.

“You had another nightmare, didn’t you?” she asked, and I felt her head turn so she could look at me.

_“You’ll come to visit us, right?” Meg crossed her arms, looking at me with a frown on her face. “You said that you’d give me piano lessons.”_

_I laughed, while my heart was collapsing on itself like a sandcastle, the lies I was about to say breaking it crack by crack. “Of course, Olympus gets boring after a couple of days.” I shrugged, with a smile. “Besides, yes, I did say that I’d teach you how to play. A promise is a promise, and I’ll keep it.”_

_Suddenly, the other campers turned to look at me, their facial traits turning more disturbing by each second._

_Meg’s face morphed as well, becoming one with Styx’s. Her voice sounded distorted, sinister. “Are you sure about that?”_

I blinked a couple of times, trying to make that image fade.

Closing my eyes, I took in a couple of shaky breaths, inhaling the scent of pines and fire that Artemis brought with her every time she walked into a room. It reminded me of home and safety, although the wild was the place that the mortals least considered close to “ _home_ ”.

I nodded slightly, rubbing my eyes with my hand. “The same as usual.”

Artemis summoned two bars of ambrosia, handing one to me so I could eat it. “I thought you were doing better,” she said. “Last time I visited you, you seemed to be okay.”

“And I am okay, I am.” I tried to smile, but judging by my sister’s expression it didn’t really look like one. “It was just a nightmare.”

“It wasn’t ‘ _just a nightmare_ ’.” She seemed disappointed. “You have one every time you fall asleep - which makes me wonder, by the way, why you still insist on sleeping. You’re not mortal anymore, you don’t need that.”

Yes, why did I still sleep? Someone, like my sister, could think that I did that out of habit: for a mortal, sleep is important to function properly; for a mortal who has to fight monsters nearly every day, sleep is important not to die - it’s hard to have good reflexes when all your brain does is yelling “BED BED BED” for hours.

However, godly brains didn’t work like that. I didn’t recall any immortal saying “ _Oops! I fell asleep without noticing, how silly of me!_ ”, and that’s because it wasn’t something that our bodies were used to do. I suppose that it could be defined as some sort of leisure activity; dreams could be quite interesting and, to some of us, a really good distraction.

“I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice. I used to like sleeping.” I shrugged. “I like nightmares better than prophecies, that’s for sure. At least I know that those ones aren’t real.”

Glancing at Artemis, I could see the concern in every wrinkle of her forehead. It was so intense that I felt like it was just about to manifest itself in a physical form to check my fever and put a blanket around my shoulders.

She sighed, again. “Well, you can’t keep doing… this.” She gestured at the room, at me and at the secret stash of chocolate-flavoured cereal I kept under the mattress, before crossing her arms. “Before being turned mortal you used to have many activities that would keep you away from your visions. Why don’t you dedicate yourself to those?”

I straightened my back, side-eyeing her. “The visions are not my only issue, and you know that.”

“Yes, but you still need to find something else to do. This is unhealthy.”

“And I suppose you have some suggestions?” I scoffed and crossed my arms.

Artemis hesitated. “You could… well, you could get back to your duties. It would be a good idea.” Her fingers were tapping on her arms. She was probably thinking I would burst in anger as soon as she mentioned work, considering how reluctant she seemed to talk about it. “If not for your own sanity, do it for mine. Eos calls me every day to complain about you. It’s irritating and distracting, and I’m this close–” She brought the index finger and the thumb of her hand close, almost touching. “–to telling her to fuck off.”

“Oh, I heard her too. After years of dealing with such a bad-tempered goddess, you learn to hear the vibrations of her voice cursing you from miles away.”

We smiled at each other. However, Artemis’ expression immediately returned to be as troubled as it was a couple of seconds ago. “I’m serious, Apollo. I can feel the Council’s displeasure. You missed a meeting, and your domains remained unsupervised for four full months. Father says–”

“Whatever he says doesn’t matter,” I snapped, interrupting her. I heard thunder echo miles away from here. “I was away for one year while I was mortal, Artemis. The world didn’t seem to miss me much, so I think it’ll manage for a little while longer.”

“What about the nosoi? They went feral in your absence. I’ve heard that they’re planning to spread a new pandemic. We can’t have that.”

“I’ll take care of that, but not now.” I grasped my arms. “I need more time. Just a bit more.”

“But–”

“Artemis,” I pleaded, turning to look at her, “Please.”

We stared at each other for a long moment. Artemis scanned my expression, her eyes moving from a point to another; then, not saying a word, she looked away.

I leaned again against the wall, staring at the ceiling and biting off a piece of the ambrosia. I started to appreciate its taste more lately – after a year spent not being able to eat ambrosia or drink nectar without burning my insides like an overcooked marshmallow, I started to consider it as some sort of rare pleasure, although I was able to summon it and eat it whenever I wanted.

Its taste was definitely something new: two years ago, I would have said that it was the flavour of my mother’s fig pie, or of the roasted rabbits my sister and I used to share whenever we went camping; now, however, ambrosia had the salty taste of food which now felt more familiar than most.

“It’s not that I don’t want to return to my work,” I said, “I just want to have some time to adjust to being a god again. I mean, I admit that it’s taking quite long, but that sentence, it makes…” My mirthless laugh echoed in the empty apartment. ”It makes everything so, so difficult, Artemis. It–”

“It makes you feel like you’re dying,” Artemis proposed. I nodded. “But is it worth it?”

_Black eyes stared at me, glistening with malice. “I feel merciful, today, and I’ll give you a choice. You could watch as they all die, one by one, but keep talking to them – as much as your father will allow you, that is,” a low voice whispered, hands as pale as a corpse’s rubbing my shoulders and twelve pairs of eyes staring at us, in disbelief, “Or you could be the good parent and friend you always wished to be. You could give them the chance of having a good and long life, at the cost of their memories of you.”_

_“I won’t be allowed to see them, I suppose.”_

_A deep laugh reached my ears, too close for me not to shiver. “Of course you won’t.”_

_A lump formed in my throat. Despite that, I managed to croak, “Alright.”_

“It’s better like this,” I murmured.

Artemis sighed. 

She probably couldn’t understand me. The Hunters weren’t fully immortal, which meant that she still had to provide for their safety to some degree and that, once in a while, she still had to face anguish and grief, whenever they went missing or they gave up the Hunt for a mortal life; yet she’s had centuries to learn to give that pain a purpose. She learned to turn her grief into soil for beautiful flowers to flourish in, her tears into constellations that lit up the sky. Her anger served as the push she needed to go on, to keep on living.

And what did _my_ pain lead me to? Sitting all alone in my apartment for months, away from any type of interaction with the other gods.

Perhaps, while looking up at the ceiling, she tried to imagine what it was like, not being able to leave any useless emotion behind.

Artemis glanced at the bar I was still holding, then back at me. “Does that remind you of them?”

I frowned, in confusion. “What?”

“The ambrosia,” she clarified, “Does it remind you of the demigods?”

“Oh.” Whenever she visited, she never asked me much about what happened when I was a mortal, so even that little question came as a surprise. “Well, yes.”

“What does it taste like?”

I smiled, breaking what remained of it in two halves and giving one to my sister. “You first. You never told me what it was for you.”

Holding up the piece of ambrosia, she smiled back at me and ate it. “Let’s see…” While trying to make out what the taste was, she looked like a vaguely pleased Gordon Ramsey. “Marshmallows, definitely.”

I scoffed. “Foolish of me to expect something better from the goddess of forests.”

She pinched my arm, laughing. “What about you then? Does the god of medicine’s ambrosia taste like disinfectant?” she mocked me, raising an eyebrow, “Maybe like a Capri Sun?”

“It tastes like bacon,” I answered, almost offended.

“Even worse!”

After a moment, we both burst out laughing, our voices vaguely tinted by a surprised tone. The rumbling that the laughter caused in my chest felt like the hesitant clang of rusted old gears, as if days of silence caused my chest to stiffen.

I managed to pull myself up at some point and, as I looked at myself in the mirror, I understood what Artemis meant by ‘terrible’. I hadn’t paid attention to my appearance lately and, despite the fact that I was a god, my mental state affected it deeply regardless: the dark circles under my eyes made my face look much paler, and my shoulders looked tense as if I was ready to run away at the first sign of incoming danger. I fixed some of it with godly magic and some of it with a dose of confidence that I got Zeus knows from where (that was the true magic, for sure).

Then, closing my eyes, I let my power flow free through my veins and fibers, letting it reach every inch of my skin and flesh; when I looked at myself, I was staring at my old form again.

Artemis was observing me from behind. Ignoring Eos’ distant yet increasingly loud angry tone, she suddenly asked, “Do you have plans for today?”

I turned my head to look at her. “No, I don’t. Why?”

“I was thinking we could go out.” She played with the fabric of the pillows, shrugging. “Perhaps go to eat something? Maybe we’ll even find a place that serves bacon.”

“It’s almost breakfast time and we’re in America,” I replied, laughing, “Of course we’ll find a place that serves bacon.” 

The mattress jumped up and down, as I sat back on it, next to Artemis. I smiled at her. “Anyway, this sounds like a good plan. Maybe going out will do me some good.”

When we were ready to leave, the sun was already up. I wondered, silently, who was controlling its course that day.

“Is there any good place you think we could go to?” Artemis asked, with a grin, while leaning on the closet, “Does Mister Lester Papadopoulos have any good idea?”

I laughed. “Yeah, yeah, keep on mocking me, very nice of you.” I took the hand she offered me to help me stand up. ”So, I was thinking of this place in California we came across once...”

And as Eos started cursing me and my whole ancestry, we slammed the door shut, leaving her behind us.

  
  



	2. The Four Horsewomen of Apocalypse, Aka ‘How I Made Another Big, Bad Mistake’

_The One That Was Forgotten_

I knew from the start that getting back to work wouldn’t be an easy task; hours and days and weeks and months spent without being able to use your own power can make you surprisingly incompetent, to the point that you can reverse to the skill level of an infant god. Disgusting, I know.

But it wasn’t only that: for some reason, not only I wasn’t able to get used to supervising my domains as I did before, but I also dreaded doing it. Every time I took an instrument and tried to play it, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, as if my own body repelled it; every time my hand touched a pencil or a bow or I tried to write a poem or sing aloud, my limbs suddenly became weak and heavy; thinking about the sun chariot sent shivers down my spine.

To sum this all up, I felt like a student who had a pile of homework to do for the next day and decided to stare at it with a pained expression for the whole afternoon.

Giving myself a bit more time didn’t work, and despite my best attempts I made no progress – at some point, I even resigned myself to the fact that I was destined not to move on from that point for the rest of eternity. However, I still wandered across incredible and stunning places, in search of that spark that would help me find my old, busy self again.

Olympus, of course, wasn’t among those places.

" _Incredible_ " is probably the first word that would come to anyone's mouth if they could get the chance to visit it, but it surely wasn't the one I would use.

Olympus wasn't _incredible_ . It wasn't _spectacular_ . It wasn't _divine_ \- at least not in the metaphorical sense of the world. 

I think that a word that could briefly summarise my impression of it would certainly be " _creepy_ ". 

Walking around the corridors or the streets, the only colors you could ever see were either white or gold, with some plants once in a while - and even though generally these colors could be associated with something good and pure, something warm, that place was always frozen, just like any mortal office.

The buildings were too perfect, too identical, too unearthly. It made sense since it was literally the house of the gods, but it was still quite terrifying - I felt as if the whole place was trying to reject me, probably to throw me down the Empire State Building. 

Being there only made my sense of inadequacy grow so, of course, I tried to stay as much away from there as possible; instead, I chose to visit the imperfection of mortal buildings.

Athena wasn’t the only Olympian who knew how to enjoy architecture, after all: although my knowledge of it wasn’t as deep as hers and my thoughts mixed up whenever I tried to remember the names of temples and monuments and churches, I found peace in marble and stone as much as she did.

Some of my favourite places were the monasteries - some built using the foundation of our old temples, some built from scratch, some still vibrant and alive, and others in ruins, but all outstandingly beautiful. Yes, perhaps they were the property of a completely different god of a completely different religion (you know, _the big G_ ), but would you blame my eyes for being attracted by the colorful frescoes on the walls?

The Christians knew their stuff.

That day I chose to spend my afternoon in Santa Chiara’s Monastery. After blending in with the crowd of curious tourists and students complaining about the little amount of lunchtime they got, I stepped inside and went to the cloister. 

Despite the many people going in and out every minute, the chatter sounded muffled and distant, in that complex, as if the sacredness of the place kept every loud noise outside, in the busy atmosphere of Naples. It wasn’t the same silence I could hear on Olympus – it wasn’t cold, or crude, or sharp. Just like in Camp Jupiter’s temples, it felt like time itself was holding its breath, still in adoration.

I ran my hand on the walls, observing the figures painted on it in religious poses. They told stories of older times, trying to make their feelings vibrate through the paint, through the blue and yellow tiles of the garden, and the columns that were holding the ceiling; I felt their life in every leaf, in every branch, in every flower – however, as much as they wanted to make me part of them and their lives, I was just a spectator, nothing else.

I sat on one of the cold benches in the cloister, holding onto my jacket. In front of me, I saw people walking back and forth, shivering in their coats, listening to their guides with a bored look on their faces, or standing alone and taking photos of the monastery and of themselves.

Out of the blue, an old lady stepped out of one of the groups, looking at me with her green, piercing eyes. I turned my head, pretending not to notice, but luck wasn’t on my side, apparently: soon, the lady was standing beside me, clenching her little mauve purse with both hands. She was just as tall as the students from the elementary school running around the corridors, and her purple coat was definitely too big for her own body. Her silvery-white hair was tied on her head in an elegant bun, and despite her age (which, I assumed, was around 80 years old), she had a shimmer in her eyes that made her look at least twenty years younger.

We stayed like this for a couple more seconds, which did not help to ease the awkwardness lingering in the air. Then, she asked, “Ἑλληνίς εἶ, παῖ;” 

_Are you Greek, child?_

Finally, I turned to look at her, furrowing my eyebrows. “Yes, ma’am, I am. How did you notice?”

“It’s easy to recognize one of your own in another country, you know. They have an aura...” she said, moving her hands in circling motions as if she wanted to continue that supposed curse that Calypso pretended to cast when we were in Indianapolis’ zoo. “You just know.”

“I- Well, I didn’t.”

She clicked her tongue. “That’s because you were so busy avoiding looking at me. Very rude of you, by the way.”

Then, unprompted, she sat beside me, as her coat inflated around her like a parachute. 

She fidgeted with the hem, looking around her as if she was checking that no one would listen to her. She looked nervous, or maybe even secretive; when her calloused fingers tapped on my shoulder (although I would rather say ‘tried to make a crater in my shoulder’ since she hadn’t been that delicate), she told me to lean down, as if she was about to tell me secret gossip about the federals.

“It’s a shame that there are no other Greeks here,” she murmured, despite the fact that she was still speaking Greek and, as she said, there was no one who could understand her in sight, “It’s full of Russians and Germans at this time of the year. They’re nice people but…” She clicked her tongue once again. “Not my thing.”

She then looked at me, with a smile on her face. “Good thing I found you, boy. Being on my own is hard for me in today’s world – people aren’t as sociable as they used to be. But you’re nice.”

“Don’t you have a family to come back to?” I asked, curious.

Her laughter was low and sad, like the growl of a dying animal. “I’m not a tourist. My family… they all left me behind to get to better lands, while I stayed here, gripping on every last bit of conversation I could get – which is surprising since I had always been an introvert. Then again, being alone for so long can make you incredibly talkative.” When she turned to me again, she gave me a knowing look. “But I suspect you know this already. You’re speaking to me, after all.”

She was obviously waiting for me to share my story, but I didn’t know what to say. What could I tell a mortal woman about me that wouldn’t make her run away screaming? What could _she_ tell me, if she didn’t run away after all? 

In the end, I decided to tell her the E rated version of the story. “I can’t say that I’m not a tourist, since I live much farther from here, but I’m not here for leisure as well.” I crossed my arms, leaning on the wall. “Some… things happened in my life. Things that changed me. I lost many people I considered friends because of my family, and now they expect me to get back to work like nothing happened, as if–” I felt my eyes sting. I huffed, in an attempt to calm myself down so I wouldn’t start sobbing in front of a woman I’ve just met. “As if my old self was still here. But I can’t find that in me anymore. I thought this place would help me.”

It was her turn to ask questions. “You don’t talk to your family anymore either, I suppose?”

“There’s no way not to talk with people like them,” I said, smiling at the thought of their aggressive need to socialize, “But somehow it still feels like I’m not.”

I didn’t lie to her when I said that. Despite the fact that Artemis came to check on me once in a while and Hermes still came to deliver his letters, I felt more alone than ever. Whenever I talked to them about my worries, they stared at me with empty eyes, confused by my newfound feelings, by that new person that stood in front of them.

The only person I could actually talk to was probably my mother, but would she be happy to see me, even after I admitted my worst crimes to the world? Even after discovering what a coward her son has become?

The lady followed the walking people with her eyes, pensive. Then she said, “Are you sure that it’s your old self you need to be searching for?”

I blinked, trying (and failing) to understand that question. “I’m sorry?”

Her mouth curled up in a reassuring smile, as she stared at me. “Change is an inevitable part of our lives, whether we like it or not. Sometimes we may wish to have some aspects of ourselves back – our innocence, other things we may have lost. But maybe our conscience throws some of these things away because it doesn’t need them anymore.” She pointed at my heart. “Whatever it is you’re trying to find again, it’s gone, child, and probably for a reason. Maybe you don’t need to find yourself again, but to build something new instead.”

I didn’t answer that. Was she right? Was I losing my time searching for something I couldn’t get back anymore, or that I never actually had?

I was the very personification of the sun, once – shiny like a trophy, always with a bright smile on and covered in gold; but there was still a destructive fire burning in me, consuming my insides. I was still functional, yes, but not in a healthy way.

Now that the fire was put out – now that my kids and my friends helped me learn that I could be better, that my past actions didn’t have to define me –, why was I trying to start it again? Why did I want to be what I was before?

“I… suppose it’s true,” I murmured.

“You out of all people know it is,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder, “Apollo.”

At that moment, I felt my whole body freeze, as if I just stepped inside cold waters. 

I didn’t know who that woman was a moment ago, but hearing her say my name - although I didn’t exactly know how she knew it - felt like reliving my childhood (or whatever there was of it) all over again. I noticed only then how warm and familiar her speech pattern, her tone, and her words sounded; I knew I had spent centuries listening just to that, hanging on every word she said.

I started noticing more little details that I hadn’t acknowledged before – a trace of power that was hidden in her, buried deep within. The fact that she was somehow speaking in Ancient Greek. Her eyes, green like leaves and old and strong like an oak, gazing at me with a softness that I’ve seen only in my mother’s.

And then I realized.

“Phoebe,” I whispered. My grandmother’s name on my lips felt like a melody long forgotten.

She smiled at me again, and I sensed a tiny trace of sadness hidden in her eyes. 

When I blinked, she was gone.

—

_The One That Was Neglected_

I didn’t find myself but, as Phoebe advised, I found a way to rebuild something new.

I decided to return to my duties, soon after coming back home. I used to be extremely passionate about my domains – I remember loving taking care of my fiery horses, even though they often tried to bite off my hands, and I enjoyed each jam session the Muses and I held. After talking to my grandmother, for the first time in months, I started missing the joy that those activities gave me.

As I stepped out of my house, I could feel spring’s chilly breeze brush over my skin, but the cold didn’t bother me at all. Now that I was a god again, my body was always warm and, if I put a hand on it, I could feel the heat radiating off of it as if it were a stove – a feeling that was always pleasant, even in the midst of March.

I looked around. Every living creature was asleep or resting, be it an animal, a plant, or a humanoid weirdo (also known as _‘god’_ ). No sound could be heard besides my light steps on the white marble and the swirling of the bag I carried in my hand. The sky was still dark, but I knew it wouldn’t stay like that for long. 

I teleported in the stables, and I was suddenly welcomed by the loud neighing of the horses, who stomped on the ground in an impatient motion. Their flaming manes cast a soft light in the darkness, and their smoky breaths filled the air with an intense smell of burning logs.

I approached them, carefully, as I did when I saw them for the first time. I patted their necks, with a smile. “You missed me, didn’t you? Don’t make that face, I _know_ you did.”

Some of the horses tried to bite off my hands, and in a twisted way, I found it pleasant – some things never change, after all, and it felt good to know that this was one of them. Others sniffed my bag in search of food, almost setting it on fire. The few that remained decided that it would be wise to mind their own business.

All of a sudden, I noticed a curved figure sitting at the exit of the stables, where the ceiling disappeared leaving a clear sight of the sky, and I couldn’t not recognize her as Eos. Her unnaturally yellow eyes were fixed on the horizon, lost in thought. Her dress, tinted in the softest shades of purple and ocher, swirled around her like the morning mist, fading at the hem at every movement she made. Her white wings were wrapped around her like a blanket, big enough to cover almost her whole body.

“Eos,” I said, in a whisper. I felt like every word I spoke was a hammer shattering the glass that was her concentration. 

She didn’t even spare me a glance, but she moved to give me some space where to sit; of course, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity, so I did.

We didn’t talk, for a while. With our feet hanging over the earth, we stared at the stars that were still holding onto the sky, too stubborn to disappear and give space to the sunlight. The weather was nice, and the clouds didn’t feel like a burden which weighted down the blue; more like a frame enclosing it, reflecting the little light they received and bringing out its beauty.

But still, even though one of nature’s many little miracles was happening right in front of my eyes (something that I hadn’t experienced in too long), I didn’t feel joyful. My mind was many miles away, in a whole different place, and with many more people surrounding me.

At last, when I thought that we would stay like this for the rest of eternity, Eos spoke. “You returned, I see. _Finally_.”

She didn’t look happy, not at all. Her expression was full of disdain, and I realized that not even Daphne or Midas or Cassandra have ever looked at me like that.

“I did,” I said, playing with the plastic bag in my hands. I tried to smile at her. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“And you better be for the rest of your frustratingly long existence,” she replied. Her tone was harsh, but I could hear the weakness in her tone, and humiliation. “You have no idea of what I’ve had to go through, while you were away doing those silly quests.” I wanted to object, but she didn’t give me time to do so. “Zeus thought it’d be fine, without someone to pilot the chariot. _‘There are other sun gods, you won’t have any problem!’_ he said, _‘They know how to do their work!’_. Sure they did! When I told them that they needed to be precise and do specific routes to make sure the parts you usually covered got enough sun, they laughed at me, mocked our whole pantheon!” Her bitter laugh resonated in the room. I couldn’t understand whether she was indirectly complimenting me or not. “I was the one who had to repair the damage! I was the one who had to help put out the fires in the places where they stayed for too long, and the one to assist the nature spirits when they were freezing!”

Eos’ wings spread behind her, majestic and scary, like a bird of prey’s; her fiery copper hair fell out of the bun it was tied into, and I almost thought it was going to burst into flames from just the sound of her yelling. She got closer to me, an inch away from my face, as her features twisted in rage. “And what do you do when you return? Hide in a hole for another six months, subjecting me to many more days of those assholes’ arrogance!”

“I needed time to think–”

“Time to _think_ ? _Time to think_ , he says!” she repeated, with her eyes wide and a mirthless smile on her face, throwing her arms in the air, “There’s no _‘time to think’_ for us gods, Apollo, especially for you, who brought this burden upon yourself in the first place.”

“I admit it, what happened is my fault, but wasn’t I punished enough already? Don’t I get to rest for a short while? Am I not a living being?” I asked, clenching my teeth, “We are all, and as such, we’ll forever be subjected to pain and grief and anger. We’re–”

“ _Human_?” she asked, mockingly, “Is that what your little mortal brother told you? We all saw that, you know, you were Olympus’ joke for months.” She huffed, shaking her head as if she was thinking of a funny anecdote – which she was. “Don’t let those words fool you. We’re above humans, as we are gods. We don’t get to indulge in emotion or pity. All we have is duty to think about, and duty alone. And the occasional Olympian quarrel, of course.”

I stared at her, in disbelief. “You know we weren’t always like this. We felt, once. _You_ did.”

Something flashed in Eos’ eyes, and she turned her head back to the stars. Just like me, she was drowning in her own memories now.

“I thought it would be easy to act like nothing ever happened, but I can’t bury my feelings again, Eos,” I said, and I hoped her words would sound to her like something more than pathetic, that she would understand, “That’s why I was away. I’m here now because I thought that I could get back to what I used to love doing the most, but I cannot. You know how that feels like, don’t you? So why do you blame me? Why are you angry?”

Then I asked, “It was never about the other pantheons, was it?”

The silence was a burden on our backs, full of anticipation for words that needed to be said, and stories that needed to be told.

“I’m angry exactly because I know what it feels like and yet I know it’s different. I’m angry because this whole mess reminds me of what happened back then, when–” She swallowed, pressing her lips together. Her eyes were glossy. She looked at me. “Do you remember what I said to you when you became a sun god?”

I nodded. “You threatened to throw me off Olympus if I didn’t present myself to work.”

“That’s right. I never told you why I said that,” she said, crossing her arms. “When my brother… when _Helios_ faded, I was left on my own for a long time. Atraeus was working like a madman because my sister was nowhere to be seen – she probably faded around that time as well –, and the winds didn’t talk to me much back then. I had to face that grief on my own. Then you and Artemis came – young, radiant, full of hopes. You two helped me, both because of the company you brought and because the anger of seeing my siblings replaced without many ceremonies made me go on, but I was still alone before you. And in these few months, I was alone again.” She looked up at the sky, and I wondered if she was sending a prayer for Selene, hoping it would reach her, in Chaos. “You have your sister, your family to help you with your loss now – yet you claim your pain is the same as mine.”

“I–“ I paused, trying to find the right words. In so long, I never talked about this with Eos. I just knew what was on the surface, and I thought it was enough. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. But is it not?”

“Not when you still have a chance to get your loved ones back into your life.”

What she said confused me. I didn’t have such a chance - Styx erased any memory they had of my mortal self, and even if I somehow managed to make them remember and talked to them, Styx would take them away once again, but permanently. So how could I get my children, Meg and the other demigods back?

Eos’ eyes traced paths on the clouds, and gently stroked the moon. “Helios is also the reason why I was so angry at you when you slacked off. I believed that you were dishonoring his memory, by doing that. His hardships.”

“I didn’t, not on purpose,” I said, and I remembered the time we spent in California, “I met him. During the trials, I mean.”

She glanced at me and smiled slightly. “I know that too. I appreciated that you freed him, by the way; he deserved it, after so long. Was he still the sunny personality he was before?”

“Well…” I thought about the suffocating heat and the burns. “He wasn’t as _‘chill’_ but, you know, sun god things. You overheat over time, I guess.”

  
For the first time since I met her, she genuinely laughed. It was the sound of the droplets of dew on the grass falling to the ground, or the singing of swallows soaring up into the sky in the morning.

When it died down, I said, “I’m sorry, Eos. I am, for leaving you on your own and all. But–” I sighed. “At the same time, I don’t think I regret it. I don’t know how I can get back to this. I really don’t.”

She returned to staring at me in the eyes, with her lips stretched in something which was in between a smile and a frown. “My point still stands, even though I was too harsh when I first said this. We, as gods, have duties, whether we like it or not, and we have to fulfill them.”

“But I feel _so_ out of place–”

“And you will for a long time. But sometimes there are some things you have to do - maybe if not out of duty, out of love for your family. You and my brother were close, back then, which is probably why you gained his title - and why he gave you his kettle.” She smiled. “So swallow this pill - as a way to honour _him_ ...” She paused. “...and as a favour to _me_.”

I couldn’t escape this for long - someday, Zeus would find out that I hadn’t been doing what I was supposed to and he would force me to get back to work, after giving me a dose of the good old one-two first, of course (but with fewer punches and more bolts). Now, at least, I could make a choice.

I nodded, silently.

“Alright then,” she said, clapping her hands, “After establishing that I will still kick you down this forsaken mount if you don’t do your job, surprisingly we still have a couple of minutes to spare, so what’s in the bag?”

I laughed, taking a white and pink box out of it. “Take a guess, aunt.”

She gasped, her eyes lighting up. She was so surprised that she didn’t even scold me for calling her _‘aunt’_ , or maybe she just didn’t want to. “ _Donuts!_ ”

And so we spent that spring morning covered in powdered sugar and icing.

—

_The One That Fought For Freedom_

Saying that sunflowers unsettle me is a big understatement.

They’re lovely blooms, of course, and I won’t deny that. Among my many creations, I think they’re one of the most fascinating ones - with their crown of yellow petals, which makes them look overall like tiny suns, and their ridiculous proportions, it’s unlikely that they’ll ever meet a sad face.

However, if you’re the god of the sun - if you’re me -, any trip to a sunflower field can quickly turn into a nightmarish experience worthy of any of Stephen King’s works. After all, while looking at them from the sun chariot is just as calming as walking among daisies (from above you know that you’re safe, you know no plant will ever be able to beat you up), having a bunch of tall flowers in close proximity to you looking at you like the giant eyes of resentful cyclops doesn’t exactly do wonders for blood pressure. Especially considering that they’re basically just really, really cheery gravestones.

I still did like to come there, though, once in a while – a habit I kept from before the trials. Fear does wonders for creative activity! (ask any student about their all-nighters, if you don’t believe me)

Not long had passed since I started working again - because, despite any of my sister’s grim expectations, no, I didn’t lie in bed all day sulking anymore. The possibility of two gods coming after me if the sun chariot remained dusty for a couple more days had been an excellent stimulus, and for two months I’d done nothing but work like a madman, to the point that Hermes himself - the same workaholic who lived off Red Bull and vodka cocktails in order to be able to keep himself functioning and brushed off my absolutely reasonable concerns (“ _C’mon, dude, I’m a god. It’s not like I can die or anything._ ”) - complained about my lack of free time. But what free time could I have, with the mortals not doing exactly a great job at, well, acknowledging the fact that they were called mortal for a reason? Artemis had been right about the pandemic, after all, but she didn’t warn me about how stubborn the humans could be when it came to their own safety. It kind of reminded me of the Middle Ages, to be honest.

It didn’t help that I started sending gifts to my children and to whoever I technically still knew before the trials, creating a fun new hobby for myself and a whole new load of work for Hermes (I mean, Styx said that I couldn’t speak to them, but she never said anything about innocent gifts, right?). He said that he would start throwing them away sooner or later, but I definitely saw the corners of his mouth twitch upwards when for the tenth I manifested beside him with a bunch of colourful boxes in my hands and a trace of pink glitter still in my hair.

Sitting in the same sunflower field each time, with a pen in my hands and something to write on in front of me, there were some days when I attempted to write something more than the same old “ _From Dad_ ” (hoping, of course, that it wouldn’t start a “ _Do we have a present father now?_ ” type of panic), and that was one of those days.

I played with the pen, tapping it on my fingers, as I was staring down at the sad, blank card that was supposed to accompany the gift to Austin, trying to think of something that wouldn’t sound too suspicious.

“ _Hello, child that hasn't seen me as a mortal teen last year!_ ”

Alright, no, too sketchy.

“ _Greetings, mortal! I, the mighty god Apollo, bless you with this gift_!”

For Zeus’ sake, no.

“ _Hi, Austin.”_

...I could work with that.

As I was about to write that line down, someone appeared beside me, causing me to almost jump out of my skin. Up above, the sun made a weird zigzag movement – because, I suppose, the scare I got affected my projection as well.

I couldn’t wait to see the mortals trying to figure out the reason behind it. They lost their minds over any minimal variation!

“Sorry, Apollo, didn’t mean to scare ya,” said a womanly voice beside me, more amused than allowed in a situation like this.

When I turned, I figured out the source of the warm southern accent: Demeter. Contrary to the usual, she didn’t look like your average middle-aged neighbour, ready to file complaint over complaint and smack you on the head as soon as she heard you mention McDonald's. She looked more like a farmer in her forties, with her flannel and red boots, her freckled skin tanned as if she spent an entire week in the fields, under the sun. She was staring at me with the same dark eyes I saw on Meg and on Lityerses as well, similar to the soil after a rainy day.

But despite her slightly younger appearance and her smile, I could sense the weight her many years put on her shoulder; she looked tired and just as worn-out as her overall as if every single harvest in the world absorbed her own energy to grow.

I took a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. “You didn’t scare me,” I said, a trace of pride in my tone, “You just… caught me by _surprise_.”

“Sure.” Her smile seemed to get wider by each second. “And the sparrows didn’t fly away as you screamed like a goat.”

“Oh, shut up.”

She chuckled lightly, not saying a word. 

Then I asked, filling in the silence, “Why are you here, Demeter? I mean, this is your domain, of course, but I feel like you came here specifically to talk to me.”

“And you’re not wrong,” she replied. She tapped her two thumbs together, on edge. “I did look for you. For a while, actually. I didn’t have the chance to talk to you after the last Council, since you disappeared as soon as it was over, and then you also sort of disappeared from the radars.” A frown appeared on her forehead. “I asked Hermes and Artemis, but they didn’t know anything either. Dionysus… well, he was _wasted_. No luck in waking him up.”

I was about to point out that Artemis and Hermes did know where I was - their protectiveness of me lately had just been much stronger than the respect they had for their elders, which in Hermes’ case was actually nonexistent - and that Dionysus would have woken up with a big bucket of ice-cold water, but I chose to stay silent. “I- Yeah, well, I wanted to stay alone, for a while.”

I saw her hand twitch, for a moment, sign that she wanted to pat me on the shoulder, out of reflex. Luckily, she restrained herself. “It’s understandable, after what’s happened.”

After a moment, Demeter looked up. Then she turned to me, and her eyes looked even darker, ebony against a clear sky. “I came here to thank you for Margaret, by the way, and for everything you’ve done to help her. That child… her heart has always been pure, but I still feared that sooner or later Nero’s influence would taint her. Then you burst into her life, and I realized only later how much that has been a stroke of luck.” 

“Meg is a good kid – a peculiar one, that I’ll admit, but she can be kind in her own way,” I said, smiling fondly at the memory of her unexpected little bits of advice and her rare bone-crushing hugs, “It was tough at first, of course. But once she opened up it turned out she’s a precious child.”

Demeter smiled back at me, but it wasn’t completely genuine. A bit of sadness and the persisting frown on her face made it seem resigned, and hopeless. “I know. She’s Phillip’s daughter after all.”

We let the grass brush our arms in silence as if we were holding a conversation with the wind as well. The sunflowers swayed to the side, shining in the light of the sunset, like the sunny tides of a yellow sea.

The question escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Why did you leave her alone, after her father’s death?”

Demeter seemed to have expected that question. She sighed, closing her eyes. “Don’t… don’t think that I purposefully left her at the mercy of those monsters, I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I did.” As she stared at the ground, her eyes narrowed, as she tried to recall those times. “The emperors… they knew how to hide well, even from the eyes of the gods. Before I could register what had happened, I found myself alone, with Phillip’s cold body in a coffin and Meg nowhere in sight. I underestimated Nero, and that was my biggest mistake.”

“It seems to be common, among us Olympians.”

Demeter chuckled darkly. “It is, yeah. It happened around the time when we found out about Kronos’ plans. When I told Zeus, he wouldn’t believe me. He said that it was impossible, that I was delirious. And look where that led us to.”

“But what about the times when Meg wasn’t in his palace?” I asked, perplexed, “You could have taken her away then. You could have spared her years of pain.”

She shook her head. “It was late. I tried my best to keep her safe, but I wasn’t allowed to interfere anymore - it was not my domain. As always, the Ancient Laws forbade it.”

“Oh, of course, yes, it’s always the Ancient Laws.” I huffed. “Who do they even benefit? Before the Trojan War, we were just fine–“

“It was exactly because of the Trojan War that they were created,” Demeter started to explain, “We interfered too much, and we caused the unjustified destruction of an entire city, with our vanity and pride. If you remember well, Zeus declared that during the same night the city was set ablaze, and that we have no choice but to follow them. _Dura lex, sed lex._ ”

“I remember, yes. I remember Zeus reciting the laws without having consulted us all first. I remember his piercing gaze daring us to disagree. I remember having visions of the future, of times when our lack of interference would actually cause the death of entire civilisations. Don’t you remember that this was when it started? Our slow decline. Our loss of power. The mortals slowly forgetting about us.” I raised my eyebrows, as she stared at me with her eyes as wide as drachmas. “Is this why you destroyed Kronos? Is this the poor excuse of a democracy you fought for?”

Demeter stayed silent for a bit. Then she said, “No.” A bunch of daisies bloomed at her feet and all around her. 

“So you’ll have to keep fighting,” I whispered, “I saw the doom the Ancient Laws would lead us to, and I forgot about it. It took me six months of mortality to get reminded of it all over again. They will hurt us, they already hurt our children.”

“Permanently?”

I paused. “What?”

“Did they hurt them permanently?” Demeter asked, turning to look at me. “Did I hurt mine permanently?” The grief in her eyes - the grief of a mother in pain - would seem heartbreaking even to Misery herself.

“I have no idea. You’d need time to discover that, and you have it. I don’t.” I smiled, feeling my eyes sting. Did someone pour Tabasco sauce on them? “You should pay your kids a visit, once in a while. It’d be the first step to regain freedom.”

The goddess looked down, and chuckled. “I see you’re building yourself that time, though.”

I followed her gaze, and I yelped in surprise as I saw the white card now full of hundreds of words, written in black ink, a whole letter that I had struggled for days to write. As I talked and listened, my mind kept working, apparently, directing the pen with magic.

“I- I guess,” I murmured, in hesitation.

She got up, brushing the grass off her clothes. “I’m sure this will not be permanent,” she stated, distracted by a tiny leaf stuck in the fibers of her pants, “The Universe never works in the ways we gods want it to, despite the fact that, well... we’re gods. Sometimes we break our promises. Sometimes we break rules. You’ve never been much different.” Her eyes shone in a new light, much more relaxed than before. “And, although I’m scared of what’ll happen to Meg and the other kids, I trust you. There are ways of tricking even someone as old as Styx; if you find the right one, I’m sure that you won’t fail.”

“Surprising words coming from you, aunt,” I commented, with a smirk, “You were ready to cut my head and use it as a bowl to store cereal in just for talking to Perse, last time we were together in the same room.”

She shook her head, smiling, but she didn’t say anything. 

As she was about to vanish, I stopped her. “Demeter,” I called. She turned to me, tilting her head. “Who told you where to find me?”

She stared at me, hesitantly. “Leto,” she said, then, sighing, “Leto told me. She said this used to be your special place when you were younger.”

I didn’t dare to look her in the eyes, and I don’t think I would have been even capable of doing so, as I felt some sort of physical restraint when I tried to look up. Even more time had passed since my return, and yet I still hadn’t set foot in her house, not even once. Why would I? Now that I knew that my trials had been basically broadcasted on every single godly television, I feared even more what my mother would think of me. She was always understanding and caring, of course, but what if it changed? _What if I messed up so much all at once that she wouldn’t forgive me anymore?_

That would be a heartbreak I wouldn’t be able to endure.

“She misses you, you know.” Her whisper almost got lost with the wind.

And with that, she disappeared.

After a while, I looked at the card again and the pen in my hand shook.

(“ _Hi Austin, how have you been doing?_ ”)

_‘You will never see them again. I won’t let you.’_

(“– _every May I send you just a little gift, but I thought you’d be glad to receive an actual letter, for once–“_ )

I decided not to risk it. Not before talking with someone, first.

(“ _Happy birthday, my son.”_ )

I burned the card.

—

_The One That Fought For Family_

The fresh breeze coming from the ocean didn’t ease the feeling of suffocation in my throat, nor did the sharp smell of eucalyptus or the sweet scent of fig pie, which my nervousness made me perceive as sickly and nauseating. For a moment, I wished for Dionysus to be with me – my mother had a soft spot for him.

Among all the places my mother could choose to retire to, she chose Palm Coast, in Florida - not a bad thing, of course, but I always thought she would settle in a city that would remind her more of her old home, Thebes; when I reached the building, however, it wasn’t hard to understand why she chose it as her residence. The condo she lived in wasn’t much smaller than the ones beside it, and it wasn’t much more original, but there was something in the tall, canary yellow walls that inspired cheerfulness, along with the hundreds of plants that seemed to dominate the scene. In a subtle way, the colours reminded me of the houses at Asos, in Cephalonia.

The door to her apartment wasn’t closed (when you’re an immortal, no neighbour is that much of a threat, even if they’re from Florida), so I could come in without knocking; that is, if I didn’t get all tangled up in the colorful string curtain hanging over the frame in the meantime. 

Still, I hesitated for a couple more minutes, trying to steady my breathing. Being a god spared me many things, I believe - _illnesses, death, the inevitable decaying of my flesh and bones_ -, but it seems that it didn’t spare me a soul, with all of its consequences.

Demeter told me that my mother missed me so, logically, it meant that there was still space for me in her home and in her heart. As I said before, she was always the loving kind of person, a woman who would kiss her child on the forehead and wish them good night even after they betrayed her. That doesn’t mean she is weak, of course, or forgiving to the point of self-destruction: she, like everyone, had a limit.

And gods forbid someone reached it.

When I went inside, I was welcomed by the brightness of the walls, all painted in warm and saturated tones. A bunch of white pots, used to hold various kinds of plants and colourful flowers (among which, I noticed, were the yellow flowers from Delos), had been put all over the floor - some next to the blue couches, some next to the windows, others on the wooden coffee tables and near the walls. I felt a faint scent of cinnamon and lemon that hadn’t managed to reach the hallway, certainly coming from the kitchen; I headed there, sure to find my mother, and I wasn’t wrong. 

She stood in front of the window, her back turned to the door, humming a cheerful tune I didn’t recognize, probably something she made up on the spot; her relaxed posture made her look at peace, but there was something in her tone - that one note of anticipation - showing that she had been waiting for someone for a long, long time.

I stepped in, making as little noise as possible, just like I used to do when I was a child and I attempted to steal grape without being seen - failing miserably every time, of course. “Mom?” I called, sounding indeed like a young boy, my voice feeble and shaking and weak.

She stopped singing immediately, turning around slowly, and when I saw her face - gods, when I saw her expression - my heart clenched in a way it rarely did before. Her clear eyes looked at me as if I were a tiny heirloom she lost decades ago, glassy and full of pain and relief and confusion all at once. It wasn’t obvious, at first glance, but her hands were trembling, as she put down the plate she was holding.

She took a few steps forward, stopping a few feet away from me. A strand of golden hair, so similar to mine, escaped the long ponytail it was tied into as she moved. She didn’t look away, not even for a moment, scanning me as if she was making sure I wasn’t hurt in any way - or to make sure I was real.

“Apollo,” my mother whispered, almost singing my name with the delicate tone of a lullaby. 

“Mom,” I breathed out, again, one moment away from crying, my lips stretched in the most pitiful smile she probably ever saw, “I’m back, Mom. I-“

Without me expecting it, she walked towards me, and she hugged me, embracing me as she did many years before, when she saw me return from the cave of Delphi with my own ichor staining my toga.

That’s when all the fear and the anger and the sorrow melted away, leaving my heart empty; I sobbed against her chest, shivering, and we slid down to the floor. Her hug was so tight that I thought she would crush my bones, but it didn’t matter to me, not after such a long time.

“Λεβέντη μου*,” she said, placing kisses on my hair and my forehead and my hands, as her tears fell down like rain, “Παλικάρι μου…*”

“I’m so sorry, μάμα-”

“Hush, it doesn’t matter,” she murmured, her voice steady and strong even though she cried just as much as I did.

“But I didn’t come to you right away,” I sobbed. I pulled away, shaking my head. “I didn’t go to you as soon as I should have, I took too long, and now you’re probably mad–“

“No, no.” Her eyes widened, a frown on her face as she spoke to me. “You were my child, Apollo, and you still are. You’re the very reason why I live, my heart, my eyes. Others might be mad at you, as it is how life goes, but not me, not at you.” She took my hand in hers, squeezing it tight, her determined but gentle gaze set on me. “Never.”

I leaned down against her shoulder, gasping for breath, the final sobs escaping from my throat but the warm tears still rolling down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“It doesn’t matter,” my mother repeated, stroking my hair, “You’re here now, and that’s all I wanted.”

She didn’t let go of me for a long, long while.

As I calmed down, my mother made me sit on the couch, wrapping around me one of those soft pile blankets she kept in her closet for emergencies - a red one, I noted with pleasure. She remembered it was my favourite colour.

She made two cups of hot cocoa, despite the fact that it was almost June and the air outside was still suffocating, no matter what wind blew from the North Atlantic; then, she set a piece of pie in front of me, asking for the whole story. I obliged, without leaving out any detail: I told her about Meg, about my children and about other demigods and mortals, about how kind they’d been and how much they’ve grown and how much I missed them. About all the deaths, the pain, and the high price many people had to pay to ensure I completed my quest, about Jason and the promise I made to him. I told her about the emperors, about Python, about all the enemies we met. About Chiron, about Dionysus. And about the stupid oath I made, along with all its repercussions.

When I was done, I sighed, leaning down and almost getting swallowed by the soft padding. I never felt more relief than at that moment. She was the first person I actually told everything, without leaving out any detail - partly because of her powers and her aura (she was the goddess of motherhood, you know how it is), partly because she was, well, my mother. Right after I stopped talking, I attacked the pie.

Mom cared about good manners, and it wasn’t exactly polite to talk while stuffing yourself with such a delicacy. Besides, it ruined the experience.

“Oh, my poor child,” she said, while she was sitting in front of me. She kept her arms crossed, looking down and shaking her head and her knee and pretty much everything. She seemed restless and worried. “I’ll have to go have a talk with Styx, one of these days. I will do that.”

“Please, don’t.” A mother’s power is unmatched, but I doubted that it would be enough to stand up against the goddess of hatred. “It was my fault. I disrespected her name, she is right to be angry.”

“Sure she is, but not to this degree!” she exclaimed, and I shifted uncomfortably on my seat, as it was the first time I saw my mother raise her voice since that one time, three thousand years ago, when Hera threw Hephaestus down Mount Olympus. “Why should she punish _you_ like this? Why put those children in danger?”

“She has quite a… twisted idea of punishment, that I’ll admit.”

“Not just twisted!” Leto got up, starting to march back and forth as she thought aloud. “I didn’t even think Styx could be like this, that b-”

“ _Mom!”_

So much for being polite.

“Sorry, sorry.” She breathed in, then turned to me, and then turned to look at the floor again, biting her lip. “Mighty gods above, this is a mess. This is a big mess, and I don’t like it. Something must be up. She didn’t punish oathbreakers like this before.”

I blinked, unsure. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” she started, sitting down on her previous spot and closing her eyes, “When I was younger, the gods… well, they weren’t too careful with their promises. They felt almighty - and they were, but not nearly enough for someone like her.”

“Artemis and I weren’t born yet, right?”

“No, no, you weren’t. As I was saying, they used to break many oaths, but there was one each of them broke only once, and even then not all of them did: it was Styx’s oath,” she explained, “To a mortal, breaking an oath like that would mean instant, excruciating death. For a god, on the other hand, the matter got more complicated, as they were immortal. Styx forced them to drink the waters from her river, and so they fell in some sort of coma for, I don’t know, a year maybe? And after they woke up, the god would live in solitude for nine years, unable to attend ceremonies and meetings. No god who experienced it talked about it afterwards, but I know that’s not all that there is of the punishment.”

“ _Yikes_ ,” I said.

“Yikes indeed,” Leto replied, smiling weakly, “Anyway, what worries me is that she changed her pattern, now, and I can’t understand why. Zeus and Poseidon weren’t punished, years ago, because they’re much more powerful than her, so they don’t really count as an example, and no god before you broke an oath in these couple of years. You... well, it’s clear that she is still punishing you, but she is being more subtle about it and, ironically enough, more merciful. It’s not because she fears you, otherwise we wouldn’t even be here discussing this, so she must have something in mind, a plan, but I just have some guesses of what it might be.”

“Am I really that unintimidating?” I pouted, wrapping myself even more in the blanket.

“How could you, with that cute face of yours?” She leaned down and pinched my cheeks, laughing, despite my weak protesting. Then she sat down straight again, her pensive eyes darting back and forth from one spot to another. “You are intimidating for sure, dear (you’re an Olympian, after all), but not to her. You see, she is the only Titan that managed to hold onto her power for all these years - she wasn’t forgotten, like most of us, which is probably courtesy of the Iliad, and her oath is still the most sacred a god could make. Because of this, she’s just as powerful as she was in the old days, so more or less like one of the younger Olympians, and she has no reason to fear you more than you have to fear Artemis or, let’s say, Hermes.”

”As if there’s any reason to fear that speedy little weasel,” I murmured, snickering to myself.

Mom shook her head, trying to give me a stern look but failing, nevertheless, because of the smile she was trying to keep from showing.

”But mom...” I put my hands under my chin, trying to think. “Did you get that all from just the fact that she changed up her habits a bit?” I asked her, furrowing my eyebrows, “I get that it’s odd, but it’s not like other gods have never changed their practices. Father used to hold onto that golden scale many years ago, you know, the silly thing that predicted the future, but he threw it away, despite being very, very attached to it. Maybe she just got bored and wanted to spice things up.”

She stood up, but this time she went to the balcony and stood beside the open window, searching for something in the waves crashing against the shore and the rays shining on the sparkling sand.

“Styx is even more of a traditionalist than he is. I’ve known her for a long time, and I’ve got to know her well,” she said, “When she did change, it always had a second end. _And this time_ , too.” 

“Demeter told me that there are ways to fool her,” I told her, “But she is the one who’s been fooling me all along, isn’t she?”

She met my eyes, suddenly looking older than she ever did, every wrinkle in her face more pronounced. “Yes. Although, I’m thinking…” Mom leaned against the glass, scanning the room with her eyes. “Perhaps it may not be a bad thing.”

‘ _Styx_ ’ and ‘ _not a bad thing_ ’ weren’t usually things that went well together in a sentence, even more, when it included her setting a trap for me in some way. Despite that, I knew not to question my mother’s judgment; a new light shone in her eyes, the same one I saw in Artemis’ when she spotted a prey in the wild, her fingers tapping on her forearms as her brain jumped from thought to thought. That was the moment right before she had a brilliant idea that would solve any problem in the world.

Mothers were like that.

“Demeter told you that she came here a while ago, right?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because she couldn’t find me.”

“That was not only the only reason,” she stated, shaking her head, “Another reason why I’m having concerns about Styx is because she talked to me about hers. I didn’t know about what happened in the Council, and she filled me in. Before you say anything-” She smiled softly, interrupting me before I could even ask her any question. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to hear it from you too. More perspectives, better conclusion – although, some of the thing you told me are new to me. Anyway, she also told me how she got the word from the nature spirits that Styx set up some sort of bait for a god. This might be a risky guess, but now I’m thinking that, perhaps, this is because she has another goal.”

“What do you mean?” I thought about my mortal days, the times she appeared in my dreams and visions. ( _‘I will have my due. You will pay for your broken promises._ ’) “She didn’t seem to have any ‘goal’ other than making me miserable, when she threatened to kill my children.”

“It wasn’t a real threat, back then. She knows well that, as strong as your will might be, you won’t last long, away from the demigods.” She looked at me, a knowing expression on her face, perhaps sensing how I tried to get in contact with the kids, in some way. I blushed. “She hears every promise, even ones that aren’t oaths, and so she heard the promise you made to your friend, how binding it felt to you, and she knows that you feel too deeply for their cause to just let it go. You can’t keep it if you’re away from them and she could be thinking that, sooner or later, you will give in, and even when you do, I’m pretty sure she won’t harm the kids until she’ll come to talk to you.”

“But why would she talk to me?”

“Again, I have no idea. A bargain, maybe.” The pity in her eyes was painful to look at. “I think you should fall for this. I’m scared for you, but I believe it’s necessary. Styx has never been an evil woman, despite what it could look like, so I doubt that she’ll ask for something unreasonable. She is still a person, and just like everyone she has a heart.”

I wanted to add that the emperors were people too and it didn’t seem like they had that heart she was talking about, but I didn’t say any of the sort. Instead, I said, “But what if you’re wrong? She might give me an impossible condition, and my friends might die because of it.”

“I’m sure it will be okay.” She took my hand, warmth embracing warmth.

“Or it could not be okay,” I suggested.

She pinched me again, laughing. “Stop being so pessimistic.” She moved from the armchair to the couch, approaching me carefully. She opened her arms, and I leaned in on her shoulder, closing my eyes, while she put her cheek against my head. “We just have to make a plan. We’ll trick just as she’s trying to trick us, and if you will be there to protect the kids, nothing bad will happen to them in the process, I’m sure of it.” I felt her smile. “What do your prophetic powers tell you?”

I took some more time to analyze my thoughts, but nothing came up. “It’s just an entangled mess of premonitions.”

“That must mean you have many possibilities,” she stated, confident, and it made me chuckle. I always liked how mom managed to find the good side in everything, and I found myself appreciating it even more now.

“I guess so,” I agreed, “I thought... well, I thought that if I stayed away from all of the demigods, they would be safe, but they won’t. They’ll keep going on quests, they’ll keep dying, and we gods will keep being indifferent.” I sighed. “If the gods notice that something is wrong - that Styx is a threat to the children -, perhaps they’ll help. I mean, they might beat me up because of it, but this way I’ll be able to make them change.”

Leto nodded. She backed away, and she beamed at me, joy spilling from her eyes. “That’s the spirit.”

I crossed my arms, lost in thought. There was still so much to plan, so much to think about. I didn’t know what was going on in Styx’s twisted mind, what the kids’ reactions to seeing me would be, nor whether or not I could reveal myself to Meg and the others without making them lose their sanity.

Do you know those movies where someone’s psyche breaks after learning too much about the past or the future? That’s exactly what I imagined would happen.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Leto assured me, after I told her about my concerns, “You’ll just need to go to someone who can help with their… memory issue. She’ll explain everything, or at least I hope.”

“She?”

“The one who caused the issue in the first place,” she replied, “Mnemosyne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Both expressions are used to address children, specifically boys, and they both roughly translate to “My brave boy”/“My brave man”
> 
> Dear goodness, this chapter took far too long to write, and I’m unsure whether it turned okay or not. It was supposed to be all linked - Phoebe and Eos being some sort of encouragement, and Demeter and Leto acting as catalysts for the rest -, but it kind of looks like many different dialogues scrambled together, you know?  
> Anyway, I think I’ll pass out, since it’s 2 am. Hopefully I didn’t miss any mistake. :’)  
> Next chapter, Mnemosyne!


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